


The Fall

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Maggot Husbands (Good Omens), Married Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Mild Smut, Not Beta Read, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Reunions, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Worried Crowley (Good Omens), ooc God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 03:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: "Akin to a snap of one’s fingers, the world the angel had come to know, his tidy little bookshop and home, was gone, and replaced by a blinding light."Or, Aziraphale falls. Will he be able to escape Hell and return to his husband?Title from a wonderful song by Half*Alive.(This is my first post on AO3, I really hope you enjoy it! Feel free to leave kudos or comments, I'd appreciate it. Welcome to constructive criticism)





	1. Lost faith

It all happened in the blink of an eye- according to Earth’s time anyway. That sudden bone deep feeling that something was terribly wrong. The one that makes your entire being shudder and, in Aziraphale’s case, makes you drop the pile of new sorted books you were carrying to its shelf. Akin to a snap of one’s fingers, the world the angel had come to know, his tidy little bookshop and home, was gone, and replaced by a blinding light.

It had been going so well for the celestial, too. Finally, one year after the armege-didn’t happened (or more precisely, _didn’t_ happen), Aziraphale had gotten everything sorted. He was granted his bookshop back, and could barely muster up the courage to leave it anymore. Many hours a day were spent happily sorting or dusting his book collections, brewing tea and reading in his armchair, and occasionally, breaking open a new bottle of vintage wine to share a talkative night with a certain red-haired demon.

Of course, the principality should have realized there would be consequences to thinking about his friend in such a way, to leaning in and gently plucking a heavy pair of sunglasses off the demon’s face to reveal big, yellow serpentine eyes, of taking his face in his hands and pressing his lips to his. Naturally, _someone_ would find out. Neither Heaven nor Hell - and let’s be honest, _Earth_, would they know the circumstances - would ever accept a demon and an angel’s love. It just wasn’t possible.

But to Aziraphale, they weren’t just an angel and a demon. Already, the celestial himself wasn’t very good at his job. He always tried to do what was right, he loved all Earth’s creatures, big and small, as God had personally ordered him to, but there were times where his best just wasn’t enough. He has made mistakes. And not very few ones, at that.

It all started when he met the serpent, the _tempter_. The demon, Crowley. When rain fell and lightning roared, the first storm, and almost by instinct, a natural gesture to him, the angel raised a feathered wing to shelter his newfound companion. Said serpent, tempter, and demon, hesitantly ducked his head beneath the cloud of white, closing the inches between them with a few hesitant steps.

Although Aziraphale wasn’t fraternizing with this… demon, every day, and although there could be a decade or two (or several) between their encounters, the celestial realized somewhere around 1941 - in a church, ironically -, that he was falling in love with Crowley. Utterly and completely, with no sign of stopping. It was as if the angel had been sleepwalking, closing his eyes to the quite obvious fact. And this, no doubt, was the biggest sin Aziraphale had ever committed.

Yet, as an angel, someone who was taught to forgive and love, Aziraphale couldn’t possibly fathom how something as beautiful as love, could be wrong. If he were supposed to thwart and neglect the demon, to put the fear of God into him, were he to get too close, Aziraphale had no interest in being an angel. Or at the very least, not a good one.

So it was this fateful day, that was to be Aziraphale’s last one as Her principality.

Light. White, glowing light encompassed Aziraphale’s now incorporeal form. His being struggled for breath, tried to find a source of life. Where was his bookshop? Where was his _husband_? He fumbled, hands searching yet not showing in front of him. His wings, trapped in some other dimension entirely, flapped wildly, fighting to escape this nightmare. What nightmare awaited him, Aziraphale already knew. He really should have suspected it sooner.

All the same, he wasn’t ready. he didn’t know, didn’t have the _slightest_ of what this could mean. Would he be trapped in hell with other dukes and demons? Would he be able to get back to Earth, to Crowley?

”Aziraphale,” a familiar voice boomed, disembodied but all around the celestial, displeased over all.

”God?”

”You didn’t think you could keep this up for much longer without any consequence, did you?” she queried, putting the fear of Herself into Aziraphale’s soul, that stuttered.

Fright seized his being, held a steady grip on his core, and twisted its merciless hand.

”Or maybe, _maybe_ you were just too smitten to think that I would find out. Well, that’s quite a comical concept, don’t you think?”

_This_ was the reason Aziraphale was going, the principality thought. Loving another being, doing what he was taught. And what only made sense. Crowley was, demon or not, by far the kindest, most extraordinary creature Aziraphale had ever laid his eyes upon, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t love him like the serpent deserved to be loved.

”I uh- I understand that you’re upset, but-”

”**_Upset!_**_”_ roared The Almighty, making Aziraphale jump, but the celestial was determined to get to his point.

”Well, yes, or whatever you want to call it! And I know- I _know_ I need to be punished for this, I really do, but please… Whatever you do, _please_ don’t hurt my dear Crowley. He has done nothing wrong!”

It was but a feeble attempt, the only thing Aziraphale wished to come out of this. If he wouldn’t make it out alive, he would at least be at peace knowing his devil would be safe.

(Although deep down, Aziraphale knew Crowley would break without the angel. Whenever they were together, the angel could sense waves, an entire _floodgate_, of pure, undying love. And Aziraphale, of course, felt the same. The angel did not want to ponder on what may happen if he disappeared during his last moments in Heaven. Or… wherever he was.)

”If you truly believe that, Aziraphale, then you are as dumb as you look. There are consequences to your actions, and I believe I have told you this precisely 318 times.”

That might as well be true. But what did She mean? Would she punish Crowley, too? No! Aziraphale could not let this happen.

”Please, God, I can explain! Give me a chance!” cried the celestial, desperate. He fumbled for an exit, for a flicker of something else in this white light, _anything_.

”Oh, Aziraphale. I already have. Several, even, if you can recall. But you were lost from the beginning, weren’t you? Couldn’t help yourself from falling for him.”

”**_Please!!_ **Don’t do this!”

But Aziraphale knew there was no point. She had made up Her mind. There would be no running from this.

”But now, since you seem so eager to find out, you can see what’s it’s like to fall for real.”

”**WAIT!-**”

But it was over. With a snap of her fingers, white light turned into pitch black, and it burned. Oh, how it burned. With a pained yelp, backward and down towards the dark, horrid abyss that was awaiting him, Aziraphale fell.

His body was returned to him (he could see his arms extended up towards Heaven, reaching for a lifeline) but Aziraphale couldn’t move a limb. He was paralyzed, and it felt as if every atom in his body was doused in liquid fire. Aziraphale screamed, shouted, howled in pain, a desperate plea for help, but nobody was going to get him. Not God, nor Gabriel or Sandalphon. Not Anathema, Adam or Madam Tracy, and not Crowley. No one would save him, and knowing that this might be it, that he might never see his husband again, that hurt more than the torture of falling itself.

Sharp bolts of pain struck his heart repeatedly, marked his soul, and spread out all the way to his fingertips, his soul turning black. It hurt. Tears fell, black and scorching hot against his skin, down the angel’s eyes and up into the air. Aziraphale, in spite of how badly he was suffering, made a strident attempt to unfurl his wings, to carry himself upwards, but it was no use. The white feathers were strapped to his body by thick, invisible rope, and they too, were turning black. From the shafts, the darkness expanded to the barbs, and it felt as if they were being plucked from their foundation, one by one.

The pain was too much to bear, draining Aziraphale of all energy and willpower, and, his eyes slipping shut, he called out, weakly.

”Crowley…”

And then he hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry ;-;


	2. Welcome to my special hell

Darkness. Darkness and cold, were the first things Aziraphale registered as he stirred awake. The ground he lay on was wet, emitting an earthly scent that slowly but surely brought life back into the angel.

When he finally managed to sit up, Aziraphale opened his eyes and crinkled his neck. He wasn’t any longer in pain, but his entire body ached from the transition he had gone through.

What he didn’t know was that along with the changes of his celestial hereditament, his _name_ had changed as well. He was no longer Aziraphale, angel and principality, but a fully-fledged duke of Hell, **_Azirafell_**.

He unraveled his wings with a whimper of pain. They had helped break his fall, but they were almost broken themselves in the process. And just as Azirafell had expected, what once had been feathers white as snow, well-preened and glorious, were now quills of inky black, their barbs crooked and haphazardly intertwined.

_What about his clothes?_ The demon wondered, fearing what he would find when he snapped his fingers to summon a full-bodied mirror.

He was grateful he was sitting down because what his reflection revealed would be enough to wipe him off his feet. You see, the image that presented itself in front of him, was a scared demon, clad in a black robe, his angel curls matching the same tone and his eyes wide and _red_. Azirafell shook his head, throat closing up as he choked out a complaint, directed at Her.

”My coat! My bowtie, oh blast it all, you had to strip me of my tartan fashion too?!”

”Oh, would you zzztop your whining? Your old-fashioned outfit iz the lazzzt thing you need to worry about now.”

Startled by the familiar buzz of a voice, Azirafell whipped around, less than pleased to see the prince of Hell.

”By Zzatan, you really _did_ fall. I waz wondering when it would be your time,” they hissed in intrigue, their face spelling out delight. Azirafell’s brow furrowed.

”Who are you calling old-fashioned? Tartan is stylish!”

But Beelzebub clearly had no interest in hearing about their new devil’s sense of fashion. And no wonder, Azirafell thought, with what _they_ were wearing themselves.

”Zzztand,” commanded the lord of the flies, yet Azirafell had half a mind to disobey.

He may be a demon now, but Beelzebub was _not_ his ruler. Nor would they ever be.

The sudden urge to neglect his orders, to create chaos and destruction, was in the back of the devil’s mind. It was frightening, to say the least.

”Screw you,” he muttered between clenched teeth, surprised with himself, and Beelzebub rolled their eyes, snapped their fingers, and Azirafell rose to his feet against his own will.

”I know you don’t like me, but do you really need to be uncooperative thizz zoon? We have a lot to get through before we can zzzend you back up there, y’know,” hissed the prince and the reminder of the Earth and of its inhabitants hit Azirafell like a sledgehammer to the back of his head.

_That’s_ why he held such a grudge for this dark lord. Why on his ring finger, there sat a golden wedding band, engraved with the image of a snake.

”Crowley! Where is he?”

Beelzebub didn’t look too surprised at the line of questioning, like they had expected it.

”Zztill up on Earth, don’t get your knickerz in a twizzzt. You can return to him az zzoon as we’re done here.”

The idea that they would keep Azirafell from his husband for any time at all was making anger bubble up inside the demon, like an acid that ran through his veins and arteries and would spew out his mouth, were Azirafell to choose so.

”I don’t think so, Beelzebub. You’re taking him to me now, or I’ll do it myself,” he hissed venomously, his fury driving him on autopilot. Without much thought about the consequences of terrorizing the lord of flies, flames were summoned into his palms, and he aimed for the prince’s head, threatening to unleash his powers. At first, Beelzebub looked stunned, eyes wide with something akin to shock, and then, they smiled. A face-splitting, thrilled grin, the exact opposite a reaction of what Azirafell wanted.

”Brilliant, Azzirafell. Come on then, give into your anger! Do it for Crowley, hmm?” they egged him on, but hearing that this was exactly what Beelzebub wanted, hearing them use his husband’s name in an attempt to make him commit a sin, Azirafell’s flames died out.

His eyes fixed on the ground, he was in agony. _Let_ _the dukes of Hell play their games,_ he thought, _so I can get back to Crowley._

”Do what you need to do with me. I’ll cooperate.”

”Exzzzellent!”

* * *

Although Azirafell secretly hated the colors and spacing of his now former workplace - also known as _Heaven_ -, Hell wasn’t looking much prettier. The rooms Beelzebub lead him through were dark and unfurnished, and demons wandered around mindlessly like dead zombies, dragging up dust from the floor. Azirafell has only seen one episode of The Walking Dead (Crowley had convinced him to watch it with him) but everything in Hell reminded him of that. Even the smell.

“Fresh meat, huh?” one demon growled to another, who licked his lips hungrily. It made Azirafell’s stomach churn, and, unconsciously, he inched closer to Beelzebub.

“My goodness, how crude!”

His idle hands picked at his skin, and Azirafell found grasp of his wedding ring. It brought him a sense of calm, a comforting reminder that Crowley was, for certain, waiting for him up on the surface.

But oh, how painful it was to think about what his husband was doing up there. When he had come home from an errand and found Azirafell’s bookshop empty, he had to be worried sick. Searching high and low, all across the planet maybe, to find his angel. Or hopefully, he just figured Azirafell had a blessing to execute and was patiently awaiting his return. Azirafell prayed that this was the case.

“All hail Satan," two familiar voices spoke in unison, and Azirafell froze where he stood behind the prince, who had now stopped in their tracks.

“Yeah, yeah, thizz one won’t be all that enthuzziaztic. Ligur, Hazztur, let me introduce an... ahem, _acquaintance_. ”

They stepped aside to reveal their newest devil, and said devil snarled at the familiar faces. Ah. The bastards who had tried to kill his husband.

“Unholy Hell!” Ligur rumbled, jaw slack in astonishment. Even the lizard atop his head seemed shell shocked, blinking its wide eyes at Azirafell in recognition.

Ligur exchanged a look with Hastur, and he didn’t seem pleased. Azirafell crossed his arms over his chest, weary of these questionable dukes of Hell.

“We _did_ say 20 quid. So c'mon. Hand ‘em over,” Hastur commanded.

Begrudgingly, Ligur complied, fishing a bill and some pennies out of his pocket and pressing them into Hastur’s palm. They then both focused their attention on Azirafell, and it all dawned on him.

“You made a bet whether or not I would fall for fraternizing with your superior.”

“Oi! He isn’t our superior anymore,” Hastur snapped, and with a sharp, shark-like grin, Ligur added:

“And from what we’ve heard, you’ve been doing more than just _fraternizing_ with that pathetic excuse of a demon.”

How **dare** they?, Aziraphale thought, searing hot rage taking over as he sent a shockwave of fire the demons’ way, but it was blocked by Beelzebub.

“Az much az the lot down here would love to zee thizzz fight, let’z not, okay? They’re juzt teazzing, Azirafell. Pleazzze, don’t you want to get thizz over with, too?” they asked, a hand on the demon’s shoulder, but Azirafell swatted it away, utterly appalled with everyone here.

His face was hot with anger, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Don’t touch me!”

Hastur and Ligur shared an evil cackle, thoroughly amused. They really were demons.

“_You_, though, Azirafell. You’re gunna be an interesting one,” said Hastur.

“Indeed,” Ligur agreed. Azirafell would love nothing more than to evaporate these two demons right there on the spot, but he realized that Beelzebub had a point. If he cooperated, they would surely let him go sooner. So he took a deep breath and ignored the odd pair as he turned to the Prince of Hell.

“Clothes,” he said. If they thought Azirafell would be walking around in these... _rags_, they were sorely mistaken.

“What?”

“I hardly believe you have no blazers or waistcoats here. If you want me to do what you say, the least you can do is give me back my clothes.”

Beelzebub frowned. Azirafell held his gaze on them until they gave a sigh of defeat.

“Fine. You can have your zztupid bowtie and waiztcoat. In fact, I can offer you an exact replica of what you were wearing before you fell, but-”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale cut them off, too excited to contain it all.

They looked annoyed.

”… But only in black.”

And all the excitement over his reunion with Tartan clothes was gone. Like a balloon popped by a nail. Behind Azirafell snickered bastard #1 and bastard #2, but the demon couldn’t bring himself to snap at them. Besides, he would make black work, he was determined to. As long as he got his bowtie, he would be satisfied. (And of course his serpent husband, but that would come too. Eventually. After all, good things _do_ come to those who wait.)

“Very well,” he finally complied with, and Beelzebub rolled their eyes.

“Follow me,” they urged, and behind them followed three demons, one with a goal to get back to his betrothed.

* * *

Getting out of Hell appeared to be a task less challenging than Azirafell had first anticipated. While in concept, the demon had thought he was to be sent back and forth, toyed with and taunted for having fallen, he was let go pretty quickly. He got his clothes back, only in black, as promised, and he actually tried a different coat. Other demons gave him the side-eye as he trotted confidently down the halls, but who said demons can’t be stylish? Azirafell felt more like himself, in spite of everything, and he let himself be lead by Beelzebub with Hastur and Ligur in tow. He got to meet with some of his so-called ’superiors’ and that was mostly concerning paperwork, so nothing interesting to tell there, but there was something else…

Azirafell, down in Hell, the bottomless pit of darkness, could feel _love_. He had no idea how he still had this ability, after having fallen and lost all other celestial perks, but it was there, clear as day. But… there was no way! In Hell, amongst these cold, unfeeling demons, who despised and feared this feeling, where could Azirafell possibly sense this from? He glanced over his shoulder, where, behind him, his fellow dukes of Hell were trailing along, lost in their own conversation. Talking and laughing, arms touching as they beamed at one another.

Color rose to the demon’s face, and he promptly turned his head back to avoid tripping over his own feet. _No_. Was it possible? It couldn’t be!

Either way, he wasn’t as about to rat them out. What kind of ang- _demon_, would he be if he did that? Azirafell was mostly chocked that creatures like Ligur and Hastur were capable of such a thing. And after all, he supposed it wasn’t all that different from his and Crowley’s love. Although he would _definitely_ have to tell Crowley about this when he got back, that was for sure.

No later than an hour or so later, Azirafell was on his way again. ’Our lot are quite eager to meet you.’ Beelzebub had chided, and oh, Azirafell bet they were. But that would have to wait ’til another time, for now, he couldn’t wait to be reunited with his beloved again. The lord of flies wished him good luck (weirdly enough) and, testing out his new, occult wings, Azirafell took off, heading straight for Earth to find his husband.

* * *

His first stop was his bookshop, and thank the Lord- er, Satan? Thank _Someone_, Azirafell could spot the demon pacing around in there, whirling around in circles.

The sign on the front door was flipped to ’closed’, and Azirafell miracled it open, wasting no time inviting himself inside.

”This isss a fucking disssaster! Where the fuck could he be?!” hissed Crowley, all forked tongue and panic, and Azirafell smirked, the demon hadn’t even noticed his presence yet.

”I’m right here, my Love.”

And that made him stop in his tracks, head snapping alarmingly fast in the other’s direction. His expression was priceless, morphing from troubled to gut-punched, jaw slack and eyebrows nearly levitating off his face. His voice was small when he choked out an ”Angel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter is rated teen and up for slightly smexy content (no actual smut though)


	3. What now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azirafell questions the nature of his and Crowley's relationship now that they both truly are on their own side, and Crowley teaches him that being evil isn't necessarily all that bad. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of this fan fiction, which is a little sad, but there will be more content with our Ineffable Husbands, trust me. (; 
> 
> I am so grateful for each and every one of you who have read my work, and/or have been patient enough to wait for the finale. Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

”Angel?” Crowley nearly whispered, blinking at Azirafell in disbelief. Wide serpentine eyes took the view in, clear denial showing in them. Azirafell swallowed.

”W-well… Not quite, I’m afraid, Dear boy.”

The silence that fell after that was nearly deafening. The demon before Azirafell seemed entirely unresponsive, just staring at his husband’s new form, and Azirafell gave a nervous, pained smile in response, his body starting to quiver. The room suddenly felt very cold, the walls closing in on him.

”I know I… hah, don’t look too hot in black,” joked the newly fallen angel, before his knees gave way and his vision turned black.

* * *

Azirafell awoke with a start, his head pounding. Wincing, he scanned the room, scared he had returned to Hell. But Azirafell recognized this bed, the bookshelves on the other side of the room, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. He was in their bedroom. More importantly, Crowley sat on a chair next to the bed, smiling softly at the demon.

”Hey, Angel. How are you feeling?”

His voice was so comforting to hear, that despite Azirafell’s urge to correct him on the nickname, he instead cried out, throwing his arms around the serpent’s neck.

”Oh, Crowley!”

”H-Hey, take it easy!”

But his wish fell upon deaf ears, because Azirafell had no interest in ’taking it easy’ when he was reunited with his husband. He buried his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck, peppering kisses to his skin and eliciting a small noise of half bliss, half disapproval from his devil. However, Crowley’s limbs betrayed him when his arms wound around Aziraphale in return, holding him tight.

”Listen-… I’m not… _disliking_ this, but you just fell, Aziraphale.”

”_Azirafell,_” mumbled the demon against flushed skin.

”What?”

”It’s Azira_fell_ now. According to Beelzebub, anyway. Clever play of words, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley released the demon, meeting his red eyes. He was incredulous, and righteously so, Azirafell thought.

”Fucking hell. You’re kidding, right? You met the prince of Hell, lord of the flies, almighty and master of doughbagery Beelzebub?!”

Azirafell chuckled, finding Crowley’s ringed hand and taking it in his, giving it an assuring squeeze.

”And dukes of hell, former best friends of yours, Hastur and Ligur. You’d be surprised to know that those two are an item.”

The serpent’s mouth fell open, he looked as if he was about to fall off the bed.

”**WHAT?!**”

”I _know_, I was just as surprised as you! But, when I was leaving Hell — quaint little place by the way —, I could sense… love.”

”So… You still have your celestial powers?”

Well, that was another story. Azirafell averted his eyes, unsure if he should answer that honestly. _No, I seem to harvest the occult powers of fyre as a demon and I almost offed everyone down there that insulted you,_ didn’t have as nice of a ring to it as what Azirafell _did_ reply with.

”Uhh…”

”Okay, this isn’t gonna work, Angel…”

”I’m not an _angel_ anymore,” corrected Azirafell again, his heart aching as he said it.

But Crowley only scowled at Azirafell, before pushing forward and sealing their lips together in an insistent, intense kiss. A gasp died down in the back of Azirafell’s throat, and his eyes fluttered shut, his hands coming up to bury in red hair. Crowley tasted of spice and vanilla, and there was a faint whiff of whiskey on his tongue too. _Of course._ All the same, he tasted like home, and Azirafell had missed home so.

”You’ll always be my angel,” promised the serpent when they parted, cradling Azirafell’s face in his hands.

Azirafell positively melted, tears welling up in his eyes upon hearing those sweet words.

”Crowley…”

”Sssshuddup. Now, from the beginning. Tell me _everything_.”

* * *

And Aziraphale did. He left out no detail about his journey, knowing very well Crowley preferred brutal honesty before sugar-coated lies. After all, Crowley has told him everything about when _he_ fell. It was only fair that Azirafell returned the favor. When he was finished, he looked upon his situation differently, and he felt just about as terrified as his husband looked.

”So… Do you think it’s that bad?”

”_That bad?!_ It’s infuriating, Angel!”

Azirafell didn’t follow.

”Sorry?”

”They can’t just kick their best angel headfirst out from heaven! it’s _insanity!_ I have a piece of mind I want to share with your almighty…”

Although Azirafell appreciated the sentiment, he begged to differ. He covered Crowley’s hand with his own, hoping some of that anger of his would dissipate.

”Well, my dear Darling, we both know I weren’t a very good angel.”

”Yesss, you were! You can’t possibly tell me thossse uptight basstardsss up there, that _Gabriel,_ isss an exemplary angel!”

”According to Heaven’s standards, yes.”

The serpent drew an exasperated breath, hissing through clenched teeth as his grip on Azirafell’s hand tightened.

”If that’s the case, then Heaven is a place of no faith. They just lost the only good thing they had,” muttered Crowley, and Azirafell couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his face. Crowley was naive, but endearing, as always. However, there were still some major issues at hand that they wouldn’t be able to ignore now that they were pertinent.

”Dearest, while I appreciate that, we should still talk about-…” he trailed off, holding yellow, slitted eyes to see if Crowley would get the message without Azirafell having to spell it out. And indeed, Crowley shifted in realization, his brow rising up towards his hairline.

”You can’t do blessings anymore.”

It was more of a statement than a question, as if deep down, Crowley already knew the answer.

”No, I…”

Well, to be fair, Azirafell hadn’t _tried_ yet, but… he should do something simple, something mild, to start. Just to be cautious.

The weather should be a task harmless enough to begin with. Right? Azirafell looked back on the day where he and his husband got crepes and packed a basket to go for a picnic. The morning had been exquisite, the sun standing proud in the sky and not a cloud in sight. Yet when they were about to leave, it started pouring. ’Well blast it all, we can’t dine outside in this downpour,’ Crowley had hissed, disappointed, and Aziraphale had smirked smugly, snapping his fingers to will the rainclouds away. Crowley had gaped as he stared out a window and watched nature return to its before peaceful, _dry_ state. ’Right. I guess that’s that then.’

Smiling at the memory, Azirafell performed a small miracle, hoping for the sky to clear up outside their bedroom window.

_ **CRACK ** _

The pair of demons both nearly jumped out of their corporeal forms when a deafening rumble rolled over the bookshop, a white light illuminating the skyline as if God Herself took a picture of the Earth with the flash on. To Azirafell’s horror, his occult powers became undeniably real to him when an avalanche of hailstones poured down from the sky, he had summoned a thunderstorm. His throat closed up, and he turned to his husband, who blinked back at him, just as stunned.

”It would appear that I can no longer exert any blessings.”

”No shit.”

* * *

It was moments of weeping and hugging later, that two demons shared a bench in the St James Park. There weren’t very many people outside since the weather was a bit glum, the sky cloudy and grey, and Azirafell was feeling worse for wear himself, staring down at his lap.

”Angel, Love… Talk to me,” chided Crowley in a low voice, reaching out and laying a hand on Azirafell’s thigh. A sigh left Azirafell’s lips. Although he wouldn’t correct Crowley’s nickname for him, although he knew Crowley never would be disappointed in him, Azirafell felt as if he had failed. Failed Heaven, lost his purpose.

”I suppose I’m just wondering, my Dearest, what we’re supposed to do now. Won’t the balance of nature be completely thrown off its axle now that there are two demons inhabiting its Earth?”

”No! If that was the case, do you think _She_ would make two demons inhabit it?”

Crowley did make a good point.

”Perhaps not.”

”Right.”

The serpent moved a bold hand up Azirafell’s thigh, seemingly eager to get to know his husband’s new form, but Azirafell tsked, swatting his hand away.

”Come on!” whined Crowley, and in spite of Azirafell’s attempt to stay unaffected, color still touched his cheeks.

”The park is hardly a place for those types of activities, you wily old serpent!”

”You’re no fun.”

”Anyway, as I was _saying_, the balance now that there no longer are any angels on Earth, is distorted, and this should be highly concerning to you, too.” Azirafell spoke, watching the other demon slouch back on his side of the bench, looking unbothered.

”M’not concerned.”

”Should I give you the friendly reminder that I summoned a thunderstorm from our bedroom in an attempt to make the sun shine?”

”Demons can still do blessings, Angel. Most just don’t, is all.”

This was news to Azirafell. His eyes burrowed into Crowley’s through his shades, as to say ’pray tell’. There was a glimmer now in the serpent’s eye, as if he had been awaiting this opportunity. He shrugged.

”Well, let’s say a young girl is walking home by herself.”

And with a wave of his hand, you could spot blonde hair bouncing from behind a pair of bushes. A woman walked along the outskirts of the park, headphones in and not a care for her surroundings. Azirafell frowned, a crease appearing in his brow. Where was Crowley going with this?

”I know, bit dull, right? So let’s spice it up a little, shall we? Let’s suppose this creep has spotted the young, defenseless lady’s expensive bag, and along with that, his jackpot.”

Suddenly, there was a hooded man creeping up behind the girl, and Azirafell grew anxious watching the scene unfold.

”Crowley!”

”Yeah, don’t worry, I didn’t make him into that for this experiment, he was already a thief. And this thief in question should be reaching this innocent girl in just about…”

The man indeed strayed closer to his victim. Too close for comfort.

”Oh, I don’t know… Now?”

And the man grabbed ahold of the lady’s arm, wrangling her as he reached for her bag. Azirafell rose to approach the pair and give this man a piece of mind, before he realized he could just exert a miracle instead.

”Get your filthy paws off of her!” he called, snapping his fingers behind his back (you can never be too careful). Yanking her earplugs out, the young woman turned from helpless to furious. She used her bag as a weapon and beat her perpetrator over the head with it until the man finally cowered and ran off. She then shot the couple on the bench a dirty glare and hurried off, unaware of Azirafell’s help. Azirafell turned back to Crowley, torn between yelling at him and hugging him. He sat back down beside the serpent.

”So…”

”So you just exerted a blessing. You can still help protect and defend people from animals like that. Think of us as cops without a payroll.”

”So we could be…” agreed Azirafell quietly. He then thought of something.

”Crowley, have you… _done_ this before?”

”…Maybe once or twice,” smirked the devil back, and Azirafell’s love for Crowley grew impossibly stronger.

He was still clueless as to how Crowley had pulled this off without Hell finding out about it. Not just now, Azirafell figured neither Hell nor Heaven had any energy left to waste on keeping the duo in line anymore, but before, when they actually did. He beamed at his husband.

”Oi. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not nice.”

”You’re extraordinary, is what you are, my Love.”

Crowley looked away, his face dusted in pink from the praise.

”… I can take that.”

Now, it was Azirafell’s turn to be forward. He placed a hand on Crowley’s knee, stroking a thumb across it. The serpent gave him a look, though the sparkle of want in his eye betrayed him.

”Weren’t you saying this was inappropriate in the park?”

”Who said we would be in the _park?”_ chided Azirafell, miracling them back into the comfort of the bookshop, Crowley onto the bed and himself in front of him, smug and eager. A devious smile stretched over the demon’s features, a forked tongue sneaking out to lick his lips. The air in the room was filled with lustful anticipation, it was almost suffocating.

”Oh, Angel, give me a full view, won't you?”

”Of course, Dear,~” replied Azirafell easily, more than happy to showcase his new demonic look for his husband.

He gave a twirl in the center of the room, posing and blowing Crowley a kiss. The serpent leaned back into the sheets, chucking his glasses onto the bedside table so that he could thoroughly enjoy the show. Slowly and deliberately, Azirafell took the black jacket off, tossing it behind him, and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. The dilation in Crowley’s slitted pupils, blowing them near into circles, and the love he was radiating in waves made Azirafell feel confident, _sexy _even. When he loosened his bowtie, Crowley scooted to the edge of the bed, making a hurried motion for Azirafell to ’come here’.

”Ssssatan, Azirafell, you’re gorgeous. Wanna eat you up,” growled the serpent, and what else could Azirafell do at that moment but straddle Crowley’s lap and kiss him senseless? Hands purchased hot skin, made quick work of clothing and twisted in short hair, kisses and sounds of delight shared between two mouths. As Crowley’s clever fingers tugged at Azirafell’s black locks and he mouthed at Azirafell’s throat, making the other demon mewl and shudder, he spoke in between kisses and bites.

”Y’know, I get that you’re probably missing your Tartan fashion, but Black suits you quite well.”

”I learned- _oh!_ \- from the best, my Heart.”

One particularly hard nip at his neck had Azirafell rutting his hips forward, creating delicious friction as Crowley rocked his upwards to meet him halfway. Azirafell moaned, short nails bluntly raking down the serpent’s lean back. Crowley hissed in return, flipping Azirafell onto his back with little effort and planting kisses down Azirafell’s chest, lower, lower…

”Oh, Crowley! Please, take me!”

”I thought you’d never ask.~”

* * *

Two demons lay together in their king-sized bed, limbs intertwined and one red-haired resting his head on the other’s chest. His chest rose and fell steadily, and his fingers were tangled in Azirafell’s, their wedding bands touching and glistening in the dim light of the room. Azirafell thought to himself, with a snoring Crowley smiling into his neck, that it truly didn’t matter whether he was fallen or not. No matter what he was, where he was, or what happens, Crowley would always be his **_home_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, end of this journey! Scene! 
> 
> I had a blast writing this (and cried at times, but that comes with the hobby), and I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it just as much! If you liked it, or if you didn't, please let me know in the comments. It means a lot to me! Until next time!


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